


Axiom of Choice

by howler32557038



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Bonding, Accidental Marriage, Anal Sex, Childbirth, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Spock, Injury, M/M, Mind Meld, Miscarriage Scare, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Pon Farr, Post Mpreg, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Probably a few more accidents I overlooked, Romance, Star Trek: TOS, Time Skips, Time Travel, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vulcan, Vulcan Biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-13 09:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7972582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howler32557038/pseuds/howler32557038
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock has made mistakes and he has learned from them. He didn't identify what he was experiencing as <i>regret</i> until he was granted the opportunity to repair the damage his dishonesty inflicted on Jim Kirk and Saavik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drawgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drawgirl/gifts).



> I’ve decided to put some very weird twists on the most over-played Star Trek fan fiction trope of all time. Hang in there. This story will take place in the TOS timeline and the AOS timeline, with two very different Jim Kirks narrating. I’m just dipping my toes in this fandom for the first time, so I'm not claiming any expertise on characters or events here - feel free to correct me if I get something heinously wrong, of course!
> 
> I've been using this fic as a little warm-up write every day before putting an hour in on my other fics, so updates may be inconsistent. I'll keep the chapters around a thousand words in hopes of quicker updates.
> 
> Written with my dear friend drawgirl in mind, because one day she said to me, "Hey, you should check out Star Trek." And I did.

_ Captain’s Log, Stardate 3376.5. _

_ After a brief interlude on First Officer Spock’s home planet of Vulcan, the Enterprise has continued at maximum warp on her course to Altair VI. The Inaugural Ceremony we’ll be attending there was originally scheduled for stardate 3384, but was then advanced by seven solar days to 3377, and has now been rescheduled yet again for stardate 3380, by request of the Vulcan emissaries who I assume are of very high regard. Fortunate, since I’m sure there are a few officers on this ship who could use the rest. For more on our...dalliance to Vulcan, see my personal log. _

 

Kirk let his finger fall heavily on the recorder button, decisively ending his log entry. He collapsed into his seat in much the same way. “Mr. Chekov, what is our estimated time of arrival in the Altair system?” he asked, forcing a clipped tone despite a creeping sense of exhaustion.

Chekov had apparently computed and recomputed their travel times so often now that he hardly had to glance at his navigational computer. “Less than three days, Captain,” he answered confidently - in fact, Kirk thought his tone might have been a little trite. Well, he could scarcely be blamed.

“Set to arrive a day early? Let’s reduce speed a bit, Mr. Chekov. Just get us there on time. I’m in no mood to mingle with politicians unnecessarily,” he instructed, allowing himself an apologetic smirk as he took a datapad from the quietly insistent yeoman on his left. He read only the heading of the item -  _ Acknowledgement of Orders Received: To Captain, USS Enterprise from Starfleet Sector Nine by order of Komack, Admiral, Starfleet Command  _ \- and signed off absently somewhere near the bottom of the document. Nothing he hadn’t been over a dozen times already, he surmised, stifling a yawn in his shirt sleeve.

An answering yawn came from somewhere over his right shoulder and he turned, expecting to catch Lieutenant Uhura’s eye and share a knowing look - one that inevitably meant sending that yeoman on a run for a few cups of coffee - but it was Spock’s face he found buried in the crook of his elbow. Odd - Kirk was admittedly no expert on Vulcantology, but he was quite certain that he’d never seen one yawn.

“Mr. Spock--” he called out jarringly, and to his surprise, concern, and secret satisfaction, Spock seemed to  _ startle _ to attention. “I was just about to send for some coffee, care to join the rest of the bridge?”

“Vulcans do not tolerate high quantities of caffeine well,” Spock informed him, going back to his computer with eyes deliberately widened to appear more alert.

“And I don’t tolerate officers napping at their posts well, but have it your way, I suppose,” he shrugged, then turned back to the yeoman. “If you wouldn’t mind, dear, five cups, very strong. I think all this back-and-forth has my crew a little dizzy.”

Once the yeoman had departed, the bridge returned to relative silence - the beeps and hums of the various low-level alerts and sensors had become white noise long ago. Lieutenant Uhura was encoding some communication, presumably to a party on Altair VI, telling them they’d be arriving on time as per the latest schedule. Kyle and Chekov were convening over calculations in the reduction of speed, busy factoring in a small asteroid belt that lay between the Enterprise and her destination. Rodriguez was at his own station, completing a report to take down to Scotty - all the standard information on fuel efficiency and the like, which would have inevitably suffered this week due to their earlier indecision over a course. And Mr. Spock was probably still absorbed with charting the--

Well, Mr. Spock wasn’t charting much of anything, was he? Because he was damn well asleep.

Jim briefly considered shouting a little louder this time, but as tempting as it was to further startle and embarrass his friend, he took the high road and rose from his seat, making his way casually toward the Science Officer’s station in hopes that no one else would take notice of the Vulcan’s transgression. He laid a hand on Spock’s shoulder. Spock’s response of, “Hm?” was enough to give Kirk pause for concern. “Take the rest of the day off, why don’t you?”

“Unnecessary--”

“No, necessary. You’ve had a long week. Get some rest.”

“Captain, I assure you--”

“Not a request, Spock,” Jim smiled, effectively ending the conversation. Spock nodded curtly, accepting what he probably considered to be a humiliating reprimand, stood, turned on his heel, and left the bridge. Kirk followed him all the way to the turbolift, just to make sure he didn’t check any additional sensors on his way out.

Before Kirk could make it back to his seat, Uhura caught his sleeve. “Pardon me, Captain, but is Mr. Spock alright? He’s been acting awfully strange the past few days--”

“He’s just perfectly fine, Lieutenant,” Kirk smiled, with more surety in his voice than he felt. “Turns out even Vulcans can get exhausted.”

“Shall I turn around, Captain?” Chekov deadpanned, looking like he half-expected the answer to be  _ yes.  _

“Absolutely not, Mr. Chekov,” Kirk laughed. “Maintain present course. Lock it, if it makes you feel better.”

Chekov turned back to his station, very much satisfied with that answer. “Aye, sir.”


	2. Cause for Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Bones form a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I'd update fast.

 

Only moments after his long shift on the bridge had ended, Kirk hastened down to the sickbay in search of Bones. It occurred to him as he deboarded the turbolift that McCoy wouldn’t be too happy to hear of more trouble in Spock’s curious case - after all, he’d already performed well beyond the scope of his duties as a medical professional that week, and he was no doubt looking to put the whole matter to rest. But Kirk knew very well that he would be remiss if he didn’t at least implore McCoy to keep an eye on him, perhaps give him a final once over now that he was apparently cured, given that only a few days before, this had been an apparent death sentence if left untreated. Kirk resigned himself to bearing the doctor’s inevitable displeasure.

The sickbay doors slid open and McCoy’s back stiffened, although he couldn’t see who had entered. It was getting near the end of his shift - terrible time for a new patient to walk in. He glanced over his shoulder with a hint of a scowl, before letting his shoulders slump as he recognized his friend. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he grumbled, and continued re-packing his supplies. He seemed quite eager for a chair and a drink - Bones was never one to mince words in the sickbay at 1800.

“Hello to you, too, Bones,” Kirk replied smilingly, hoping it was disarming.

“What’ve you got? Headache? Or is that just me?” he sighed.

“No, I’m just fine - actually, I wanted to ask you about--”

“Spock?” McCoy supplied with a bright, acidic smile, which softened as he shouldered his bag with a laugh. “I figured as much. You know, Jim, we  _ were _ just on Vulcan. Don’t you think we could’ve picked up a...newer model?”

Jim followed him out into the hallway, knowing full well that they were headed for the cantina, which was quite alright with him. He could certainly use a break, just as much as McCoy could. “Oh, doctor, I do believe Mr. Spock is one of a kind.”

“What about that nice young lady he introduced us to? Ahh...T’Pring! At least she was a little easier on the eyes.”

“As I gathered, Bones, Spock and T’Pring are the same age,” Kirk corrected him.

“Well then, for God’s sake, what the hell happened to Spock?” McCoy chuckled. “Probably same thing that happened to me. All these years of putting up with you.”

“Come on now, doctor--”

“And did I hear right? His fiancé dumped him at the altar for some young stud after we beamed up?” McCoy asked, eyes alight with amusement.

“No, no, you heard right,” Kirk conceded as they boarded the turbolift. “In fact, now you mention it, I wonder if that’s what’s the matter with him.”

“Dare I say, Captain...is he having feelings?” McCoy gasped mockingly as they entered the Officers’ Mess and took their respective seats.

“I suppose that could be the case,” Kirk mused, calling back to Bones over his shoulder as he procured drinks for the both of them. He set them down on the table and settled into his chair with a deep sigh. “I can’t quite put my finger on it - it may of course be purely psychological. As I understand it, that woman had been betrothed to him since they were seven years old--”

Bones mumbled something about  _ child marriages  _ and  _ barbaric _ , which Jim chose to overlook _. _

“--And I’m sure that losing that has been rough on him, but--”

“But on the off-chance that it’s  _ physiological _ , you want me to drag him by the sharp end of his ear back to sickbay.”

Jim smiled gratefully. “I’d certainly appreciate it. It’s probably just fatigue, but in light of that close call earlier this week, I’d say better safe than sorry.”

“And...uh...what if he doesn’t  _ want _ to?” Bones leaned across the table and smiled back over the rim of his glass, voicing what he regarded as the obvious complication.

“He knows I’ll make it an order if I have to. But I believe he’s back to his old, sensible self - I doubt it’ll be necessary to pull rank on him again.”

  
  


“Kirk to Spock. Come in, please.”

Jim waited at his desk for a reply. Bones had attempted to contact Spock the night before at Jim’s behest, but two hours after they’d met in the cantina for drinks, Bones was on the intercom to Jim’s quarters to give the concise report of,  _ He doesn’t want to. _ Jim couldn’t decide whether irritation or worry was better suited to Spock’s behavior. At the moment, he was feeling an unpleasant mixture of both. “Mr. Spock, come  _ in _ , please.”

Finally, there came a reply of, “Yes, Captain?” But it was almost slurred, sleepy - certainly uncharacteristic of Spock’s usual formal attitude.

Jim’s voice softened immediately as he leaned in toward the intercom’s receiver. “Spock...are you alright?”

“I am well, Captain,” was the rough, hollow answer. “I was asleep.”

“You were asleep last night when Dr. McCoy called you to sickbay.”

“I was.”

“Yes, at 1830. Mr. Spock, it’s nearly 0800.”

“I am not due on the bridge for another hour, Captain.”

Jim bit the inside of his cheek impatiently. “Isn’t fourteen hours a bit more sleep than a Vulcan requires in, say...a week?”

“If you insist on worrying, Captain, I can only assure you that I am perfectly--”

“Look, never mind the assurances, Mr. Spock. I’m on my way. I’d like to get a look at you myself -  _ after which,  _ you are to report to sickbay.”

A long moment of silence followed, as Spock presumably accepted his fate. “Very well, Captain.”

Jim closed the channel after another pause, once he determined that he simply didn’t know what else there was to say. One thing was certain - Spock still didn’t sound at all like himself, and Jim was determined to find out why. “Kirk to Bridge.”

Lieutenant Uhura responded promptly. “Yes, Captain?”

“Lieutenant, I may be a little late this morning. Please tell Mr. Chekov and Mr. Sulu to maintain present course to Altair VI.”

“Noted, Captain,” she replied hesitantly. “Captain - well, it’s just that you’re so rarely late for a shift on the Bridge. Is everything alright, sir?” she asked quietly. Jim could hear the official edge leave her voice and knew that she was asking as his friend, rather than his crewmate.

“I’m just fine, Lieutenant. Mr. Spock is still a little under the weather, though.”

“It’s not serious, I hope?”

“No, no - I’ve probably just been overworking him. But you know how he is about Dr. McCoy and his _ potions and primitive pseudo-science _ .”

“Well, you just tell him to get over it and take care of himself, sir.”

Jim grinned fondly. “I’ll drive him down to sickbay with cattle-prod, if I have to. Kirk out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time!


	3. Closer Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Captain demands a straight answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again!

Jim found the door to Spock’s quarters unlocked, but out of courtesy, he still called out, “Mr. Spock, may I come in, please?” He received no reply. Tentatively, he opened the door. A momentary thought crossed his mind that perhaps Spock was truly ill and that he’d given him too much space and trust where his own well-being was concerned. Perhaps Spock had not been cured after all when they returned from Vulcan? What if the ritual T’Pau had performed had only offset the symptoms of the  _ pon farr _ , rather than causing them to abate entirely? If that was the case, Spock didn’t have much time left, according to Dr. McCoy’s original prognosis.

His uneasy stomach wasn’t helped in the least as he stepped into Spock’s quarters. A wave of heat hit his face like a solid wall as soon as the door was opened. The room was so dim that he had to shut his eyes, giving them a moment to adjust from the brightness of the hallway, before he could see anything at all. The darkness and warmth of the room only served to make the silence heavier and the cloying smell of incense more stifling. Jim felt as if he couldn’t draw a full breath. He was suddenly reminded how completely Spock had been surrounded by a human atmosphere; how the bright lights and cool, oxygen-rich air were just as alien, just as imposing to Spock’s biology as this dim, airless room seemed to him.

Once his senses adjusted, he could discern the shape of Spock’s body on the bed, wrapped in blankets and curled in on itself like a man who is freezing to death. His fearful suspicions felt now entirely confirmed - Spock had only experienced a brief reprieve, and they were now headed for Altair VI as his symptoms worsened in spite of all their efforts. Which meant, of course, that he should exercise extreme caution with his friend. What T’Pau had called the  _ blood fever _ , the violent urges that had nearly caused Spock to kill him on Vulcan - if the other symptoms were worse, it stood to reason that Spock would be more dangerous now than before, with even less compunction for lashing out at anyone who tried to help him, and Jim was at a physical disadvantage against the Vulcan’s strength. Jim studied the huddled mass on the bed and decided immediately to damn the risks and all this Vulcan secrecy and mysticism as well - Spock needed medical intervention. He  _ needed _ help, whether he liked it or not.

Jim made his way across the room toward Spock’s desk with slow, deliberate steps, as if he were entering the den of a wounded animal, keeping one eye on the partition between the sleeping area and living quarters. Spock made no advance, though - the only indication he was alive at all were the heavy, ragged breaths which were only just audible from the bed. “Spock. It’s Jim,” he said softly, hoping to avoid startling him. There was no reply. “Lights at twenty percent.” Spock’s form shifted, presumably as he turned his face into the pillow to hide his eyes. At least he was conscious. “Spock, I’m here to help. Can I trust you not to attack me?” Jim asked gently, hoping Spock could hear the smile in his voice.

“I will not hurt you, Captain.”

Indeed, there was none of the same sharpness to Spock’s tone that had been present before - none of the barely-contained rage or territorial venom. His voice was cracked and low as if with exhaustion and his words were drawling and slurred, almost drunken. Jim took another step toward the intercom and reached for the call button.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I’m sorry,” Spock said dazedly. “I don’t--I can’t...Not presently fit for duty, sir.”

“I know, I know,” Jim assured him. “Spock, you’ve got to let me call Dr. McCoy. You  _ must  _ tell him everything you know about this. There must be something we can do.”

“My life is no longer in danger,” Spock said pleadingly.

“I thought this--that the  _ pon farr _ would kill a Vulcan within a week if it wasn’t addressed,” Jim reasoned with him. “Now look, Spock, I’ve just about had it with these mysterious Vulcan afflictions. Tell me what’s going on, and be plain about it,” he demanded.

Spock took a few shuddering breaths before answering, but he only seemed to sink deeper into his delirium. “Life is...not in danger,” he repeated desperately.

Jim wasn’t in the mood to entertain any further arguments. He pressed the call button. “Kirk to sickbay.”

Chapel answered. “Yes, Captain?”

“I need to speak with Dr. McCoy. Urgently.” In the sleeping quarters, the blankets rustled as Spock pushed himself up weakly in protest.

The intercom picked up McCoy’s last few hurried steps toward the receiver before his voice came through, discreetly quiet but intense with worry. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“No, doctor, but it seems that his condition has deteriorated.”

“I need to come down there with a tranquilizer gun?” McCoy asked, seeming more than a little serious.

“I don’t believe so, but we might need a stretcher. I’m not sure he can walk.”

“I’ll be right there, Jim--”

“I will explain,” Spock interrupted, voice strained with frustration as if he’d tried several times already to force the words out.

“Hold on a minute, Bones--”

“Jim, he’s got to--”

“He says his life is no longer at risk, and I think I’d like an explanation as soon as possible. He’s offering one. In the meantime, have Lieutenant Uhura contact Vulcan immediately. Tell them the Enterprise is requesting all the information they can give me on  _ pon farr _ and Vulcan biology.  _ Everything.  _ The well-being of one of their own depends on it. If they refuse, I’ll talk to them myself. Kirk out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are treasured and loved, as usual. :)


	4. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Jim wants is a simple "yes" or "no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs for all. Thanks so much for reading!

Jim ended the communication and immediately turned his full attention back to the bed, where Spock had managed to raise himself into an upright position, although he was still painfully hunched. “Captain, contacting Vulcan will not be necessary. I am...more than capable of telling...telling Dr. McCoy...all that he needs to know.”

Jim came to the threshold of Spock’s sleeping quarters and stopped there, leaning against the partition. As yet, there was no need to impose any further on Spock’s deeply cherished sense of personal space. “Well, if you’re not fit to report for duty, I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me first, Mr. Spock.” His eyes passed indicatively over Spock’s bent, trembling frame and he did his best to sound firm, despite how worrisome and heartbreaking it was to see his friend in such obvious distress. “Explain.”

“Captain...I  _ will... _ if I am able…”

“Is something preventing you?” Spock did not answer. Jim decided another push might be warranted, however undue the accusation might prove to be. “Or were you simply trying to delay a visit to sickbay when you made that promise?”

“I will not....He can’t...” he trailed off suddenly, seeming to lose his thought, or else to think better of his response. “There is nothing that Dr. McCoy can do for me in my present condition.”

“Spock, let me be perfectly clear: if I turn the Enterprise around  _ this instant _ and take us back to Vulcan at warp factor seven or better, beam you down for treatment and continue back toward Altair VI at the same speed, I believe we would still make the Inaugural Ceremonies on time. If that is what you need, then for God’s sake, tell me right now.”

Spock was shaking his head before Jim had even finished. “Nothing...they could do nothing for me there, either.”

“No other objections?”

Spock was silent, but continued to shake his head dazedly. Finally, Jim came to sit beside him on the bed and took him by the shoulders to steady him. Spock recoiled sluggishly, but didn’t seem to have the strength to fight him. “Now hold still. You really are sick, aren’t you?” Jim sighed, laying a comforting hand on Spock’s back, which stiffened with discomfort. “If you were well, you’d have told me immediately that diverting back to Vulcan would put us nearly four hours behind schedule.”

“Captain, I--”

“You’d have the delay computed down to the decimal, and you know it. Now you can’t even manage that calculation in your present state, can you, Mr. Spock?”

Spock bowed his head low, defeated. “I...I cannot.”

“Spock,” Jim all but begged, leaning in until he could just see Spock’s features in the low light. “This is nothing to embarrassed about. I’ve been knocked out of commission a few times myself,” he smiled placatingly. “None of us are invincible, and I hope I didn’t lead you to believe that was my expectation. I’ll keep this off the record if I must. If you won’t tell your Captain, then at least ease the worry of a very concerned friend.”

“You will have to leave.”

“Damn it all, Spock, I’m not going anywhere until you--”

“Said--I said I would explain. And I intend to do so. But you….you must not be so...close. I cannot--not coherent, too close--can’t hardly speak.” Spock shut his eyes tightly, as if he were struggling to concentrate. “Please.”

Jim felt his brow furrow, trapped somewhere between growing fear and increasing curiosity. Then he nodded and stood. “Very well.” He resumed his position on the threshold and leaned there comfortably, arms crossed, indicating that he wouldn’t move again until he had what he wanted. “Now.  _ Explain. _ ”

“Please, Captain...the lights--”

“Will remain just as they are until you tell me what I want to know,” Jim bit out, ignoring the prickling sense of guilt in his chest. He had absolutely no desire to interrogate a man who was so ill, especially one of his dearest friends, even in the interest of their own well-being, but he reminded himself that Spock hadn’t left him much of a choice in the matter. “Did the  _ pon farr _ not end, as you thought it did? Is this the blood-fever T’Pau told us about?  _ Plak-tau _ , or something to that effect?”

Spock’s head sank lower and he drew the layers of blankets tighter around himself. Finally, the wave of pain seemed to pass, and he answered emptily, “Yes.”

Jim sighed. “It’s alright, Spock. There’s no way you could have known it wasn’t over with. I’ll have Mr. Chekov reverse our course. He won’t be happy about it, but I’ll have you back to Vulcan as soon as possible.”

“Useless,” Spock gasped, suddenly trembling again.

“Why?” Jim demanded. “You think it may be too late?”

“Yes,” Spock gritted out, as if Jim was torturing every answer out of him.

Unfortunately, human nature only allowed Jim so much patience, and after such a week, what little he had left was wearing thin. “Spock, this is an order. Do you hear me? No more polite innuendo, and enough with the dignified charade. Illness is undignified, and it’s got to be dealt with nonetheless. I want you to tell me  _ exactly _ what I ought to do, even if you find it shameful or distasteful or disgusting. Now this is a Vulcan period of mating. Correct? I think I’m old enough to handle that information, and so is everyone onboard this damn ship.  _ Would _ sexual intercourse be a sufficient cure?” he asked, daring to raise his voice and staunchly ignoring the way it made Spock flinch.

“Captain,  _ please-- _ ”

“A simple  _ yes _ or  _ no, _ Mr. Spock!”

A defeated, “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry to politicize, but please be sure to show your support for Standing Rock this week. My family's out on the front lines resisting peacefully. Water = Life/Mni = Wiconi. Miigwech! <3


	5. Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still chipping away at this! Please let me know if you're enjoying.

**Axiom of Choice: 5. Nervous**

 

“Well, that decides it, then. Since you’ve got no mate waiting for you back on Vulcan, I’ll go talk to some of the female crew members. I’m sure there’s at least one woman on board who could--”

“Useless, Jim--it’s useless,” he rasped.

“It’s that dire, isn’t it?” Jim realized. “If I make you wait another hour while I find someone who can help you, you’ll die, won’t you?”

Spock didn’t reply.

Jim paced the narrow space of the foyer’s frame, pinching the bridge of his nose as he drummed up the gall to make a final suggestion. “Would it do you any good if--” He stopped suddenly, realizing that the authoritative edge he could hear in own voice was unacceptable, given what he planned to propose. “Spock. Can I help you? As a friend?”

Spock remained silent, but bent almost double, crumpled under an invisible weight.

“Answer me. Please. Would it help?” he asked again, every word clear and measured.

He could hear agony in Spock’s voice when he finally spoke. “Yes.”

And despite the absolute indignity of the situation in which he and Spock now found themselves, Jim couldn’t hold back a relieved sigh a grateful smile. He raised his hands and shrugged, almost laughing. “Spock,” he chuckled. “Spock, I don’t know when I’ve been such a terrible friend to you, but don’t think for a second that I’d sit here and let you suffer rather than risk being  _ scandalized _ . If your life is at stake and I can help you, let me know a little sooner next time, would you?”

But Spock didn’t seem capable of continuing the conversation. Jim pushed down a spell of nervousness, the like of which he hadn’t felt since adolescence - he’d said he’d help, and he planned to make good on that promise. Nothing to be done now except roll up his sleeves and do it. If that meant that they’d both have to agree later to never speak of this again, then so be it. The names of at least two pretty young yeoman and a lovely botanist came to mind, reminding him that he wasn’t exactly unpracticed with such arrangements. And where the physical aspects were concerned, he’d overlooked far more drastic differences than pointed ears before, and he’d certainly overlooked far more  _ green _ than Spock’s current flush.

“Lights at ten percent,” Jim indicated quietly, then closed the distance between himself and the bed, where he knelt in front of Spock. He reached up to the taut hem of the outermost blanket, seeing whether or not Spock would let him remove it. He didn’t allow it to budge. “Alright, Mr. Spock?”

“No,” Spock replied honestly.

“What’s happening? Tell me,” Jim implored, giving up on the blanket and laying his hands tenderly on Spock’s stiff arms. “I want to know. Let me help.”

“Chills,” Spock admitted. “Confused. Tired,” he continued weakly. “Nervous.”

Jim decided that the best course of action was perhaps to provide as much normalcy as he could. Spock knew him better than anyone. Undoubtedly, he’d seen him court a potential partner more than once. Maybe this shouldn’t be any different?

_ No, no-- _ he told himself.  _ Better to treat it impersonally. _ Nothing but assisting a friend, desperately in need. That would be better, surely. Soldiers observing barracks rules and no more than that. But couldn’t that be just as uncomfortable? To  _ seem _ embarrassed, just because he felt he  _ should be _ ?

There was no right answer. Jim could only fall back on what he liked to think came most naturally, so he cupped Spock’s jaw in his palm and tilted it gently upward, letting him see what Jim could only hope was a smile the Vulcan would find charming, or at least pleasant. “No need to be nervous,” he promised, letting his thumb graze over Spock’s cheek. Spock’s mouth fell open, though whether it was in shock or lust, Jim couldn’t decide. There was nothing to do but press on. His hand trailed back down to the edges of the blanket, which Spock seemed to regard as his last defense. “Come on. Let’s get you a little more comfortable.”

Spock’s grip loosened almost automatically as his gaze remained transfixed on his friend, and Jim was finally allowed to remove the blankets. Beneath them, Spock’s clothes were wrinkled and messy. He must have slept all night in them. Jim laid his hands on Spock’s shoulders, hoping to guide him down onto the bed before he fainted, but found the fabric of his uniform damp and chilly with feverish sweat. “Oh, Spock,” he sighed, exasperated and appalled. “You’re soaked to the bone. Have you been like this since yesterday night?” Spock gave a hazy nod. “Let’s get you out of these.”

He hauled him up and balanced him on his shaking legs, brushing away the last of the twisted mess of sheets that still clung wetly to his back, and reached for the hem of Spock’s uniform, trying to keep his hands and intentions purely professional for the moment. After all, Spock wasn’t a woman - there was no need for such an action to be inherently sexual. His uniform was wet and he was incapacitated, and Jim was helping him undress. It was nothing he hadn’t done for Spock or a dozen other crewmembers before. But Spock’s body became rigid and resistant again as Jim tried to lift up his shirt. Apprehension was jarringly evident in Spock’s expression.

_ Of course _ this was sexual. Spock probably couldn’t help but see it that way at the moment. And sex was quite different from utilitarian assistance, wasn’t it? 

Perhaps he was moving too quickly, touching too insistently, driving forward without warning or discussion. Jim caught Spock’s frantically wandering gaze and held it, trying to project nothing but acceptance, assurance, and  _ want. Wanting _ was important - Jim had suffered through a few encounters where he got the sense that he was the only interested party, and that his enthusiastic advances were met with nothing but grudging tolerance. Nothing could make a man feel ashamed of himself so quickly, and Spock seemed to battling with enough shame already. 

Maybe he had been approaching the situation all wrong. After all, they’d gone this far already - what did they really have to lose? What lines should they refuse to cross, after they had crossed the first? Best to leave that up to Spock. As long as his First Officer remained willing, Jim saw no reason that this should continue to be a source of suffering for him when it was quite possible to make the whole affair pleasurable, perhaps for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh, they about to do the sex.


	6. Floodwaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim makes a decision and prepares himself to accept the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! Thanks for showing so much love for my little side project. I mostly write Marvel fanfiction, so this has been a fun way to exercise a different tone and style. I really appreciate you guys! <3

**Axiom of Choice: 6. Floodwaters**

 

Jim stilled his hands and let go of Spock’s shirt, and redirected his attention to Spock’s skin instead, sliding tentative fingers beneath the fabric to trail up Spock’s abdomen. When Spock’s ragged breaths deepened, Jim could feel it. Only when the tips of his fingers reached Spock’s chest did it occur to Jim that a line had been crossed between them only moments ago - the boundary between professionalism and attraction. And that feeling shouldn’t have been so unfamiliar; he had crossed it before, with others - mostly with females, of course - but that had always felt like a river following its natural course into rapids. Normal, undeniable, unavoidable. But this was not the same. This was the sudden and violent collapse of a dam - two still pools and a wall between them, and with the wall removed the stillness exploded into chaos as the two bodies crashed together and merged. Jim could almost hear the sound of rushing water in his ears.

His hands had continued on their course as he considered the metaphor with intention all their own, fingers dragging along Spock’s ribcage and nails scraping over the hard planes of his chest, and he only realized how needy and forceful every touch had become when Spock, eyes shut tightly, uttered a breathless, choked plea of, “ _Captain._ ”

“Hush, Spock,” Jim ordered sternly, although he gentled his hands, letting his arms encircle his friend to caress along the length of his bent spine. “Not here. I’m just Jim, here.”

“Jim,” Spock repeated, looking back at him with the first signs of clarity in his eyes that he’d shown since Jim entered.

“Yes, that’s right,” he smiled lovingly, noting that Spock’s singular moment of clarity didn’t walk hand in hand with rejection or disgust, as he had feared it would. Finally, Spock raised his arms and let Jim peel away his damp shirt, and Jim finally felt right about doing it. Jim didn’t look away for even a second as he tossed the shirt to the floor. His own shirt followed without hesitation, and he wrapped an arm back around Spock to draw him closer, giving them real skin on skin contact. With the chests and bellies pressed together as they embraced, Jim felt Spock take his first long, easy breath of the day, as if the closeness was already giving him the relief he needed. “Jim,” he repeated again and again, each utterance differently intoned, each a statement or plea all its own. It seemed to be the closest Spock could now come to speaking, so Jim listened and did his best to understand. He inclined his head toward Spock, resting their cheeks together, and heard, _More, Hurry, Please._

With his free hand, he pressed on Spock’s shoulder, pushing him back down onto the bed as he himself knelt. Jim tugged on Spock’s boots and Spock did his best to help by pulling away, though most of his mind was consumed by whatever waking fever-dream was playing out before him, head tossing from side to side, long fingers clutching at the rumbled blankets strewn across his bed. As soon as Spock’s feet were bare, Jim set to work on the fastenings of his pants and when he dragged them off, undergarments and all, he found that he’d unquestionably regained Spock’s full attention.

There was certainly very little chance of going back now - Jim had committed himself fully to this, whether it was a mistake that would ruin an important friendship or the cure that would save Spock’s life - and yet he could still feel something naggingly self-conscious at the back of his mind that prevented him from undressing right away. He ignored it under the pretense that his First Officer undoubtedly needed immediate relief. Surely, it wasn’t so important to Spock’s affliction that Jim sought pleasure for himself, as well. At least, not with any urgency.

Jim crawled onto the bed, one of Spock’s bare legs pinned between his, hands planted on either side of the Vulcan’s narrow shoulders, and let himself fall forward into a bruising kiss before he had the chance to think better of it. A flashing moment of doubt shook through him like an ion storm - _too personal - too far - Jim, you’re an idiot - do Vulcans even do this? - you’ll frighten him - so human, as always -_ before Spock quieted every protest his over-heated brain could offer up by arching into him, pushing back into the kiss harder than Jim would have dared to let it begin, tongue brushing over Jim’s bottom lip, clumsy and unpracticed, but wonderful nonetheless. Jim took the bait and deepened the kiss without a second thought.

Somewhere, the unshakeable Captain Kirk known to the Enterprise’s crew was laughing at poor Jim, as the realization dawned on him that this was more than tolerable. This was _arousing_ \- almost painfully so. The kiss was better than he could have imagined, if he ever would have let himself imagine such a thing, and even through his slacks, the heat of Spock’s body was incomparable and the feeling of a male physique - unyielding muscle and hard lines where he usually found the pliable softness of breasts and hips - was strange and new and all at once shockingly familiar. Any fleeting thought of _forbidden_ was only fuel on the fire. Captain Kirk - all brash confidence and experienced wisdom, told Jim that as long as he and Mr. Spock were enjoying themselves, he failed to see the problem. And Spock - though he was a little feverish and certainly not his usual, logical self - did not seem to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a nice night, all, and happy weekend!


	7. Selfishly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is a little new to this, but Captain Kirk doesn't do anything by halves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover your eyes, kids - Jim and Spock are about to earn that "E" rating. :D

**Axiom of Choice: 7. Selfishly**

 

_ Captain Kirk - all brash confidence and experienced wisdom, told Jim that as long as he and Mr. Spock were enjoying themselves, he failed to see the problem. _

 

And Jim left behind the last of his reservations at that, tearing himself away from their hungry kiss to press his lips in a winding path down the column of Spock’s throat, pushing himself up to follow the line over the crest of his collarbone, down to his heaving chest, as if he could draw the insufferable heat out of Spock’s skin like venom from an open wound. The rough material of his slacks dragging against his naked groin ripped an anguished growl from Spock’s throat. Jim didn’t pause, kissing his way down over the taut skin of his stomach, nose brushing against the little line of coarse hair that ran from sternum to pelvis. When Jim finally wrapped his fingers around the Vulcan’s cock, Spock’s body arched up like a current of electricity had burst through him and he let out a groan that Jim felt right in the pit of his stomach.

“Shh,” Jim quieted him, giving his cock a few gentle, slow strokes, bowing his head just low enough that Spock could undoubtedly feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over him as he spoke. “Now you know I love the Enterprise just as much as you do, but only her hull is thick, Spock.”

Spock let his head fall back against the mattress, dizzy and uncomprehending. “What…?” was the best response he could manage.

Jim breathed out a soft laugh that made Spock’s hips jerk. “I just meant that you need to keep your voice down. The walls have ears around here, you know.” But Spock only moaned again as Jim explained, though it wasn’t as sharp or loud as the first time. It was still more than enough to cause Jim to glance reflexively toward the door. “Do you think you can manage?”

“I...will try,” Spock promised wheedlingly, breathing deeply as he struggled to control his body and his voice. At the moment, doing both at once seemed beyond his capabilities. The second he managed to silence himself, he was thrusting desperately into Jim’s grip, trying for whatever friction he could get, and Jim obliged him by laying a calming hand on Spock’s stomach, urging him to be still, and planted a wet, lingering kiss against the olive-flushed tip of his cock. Spock drew a breath that would have become another broken cry if hadn’t bitten down on his own knuckles to silence it, and Jim took that as a sign of enjoyment and encouragement. He’d never done this before, but how difficult could it really be? Anyway, he’d always had a knack for learning by experience. If he could manage to swallow his pride, after all, he could swallow anything, he thought with a smile, and circled his tongue once around the the crown, acclimating to the unfamiliar taste, before relaxing his throat and drawing as much in as he could. Let it never be said that James Kirk did anything by halves.

He started out doing only what he knew he would have enjoyed were he Spock’s position, but soon he was listening intently to Spock’s staggered sighs and barely stifled gasps, taking cues from his reactions, repeating what seemed to make his partner happiest, establishing a steady rhythm that was sure to drive any man over the edge. Hell, he’d taken to this like a fish to water, really - although he wasn’t entirely sure he was paying himself a compliment, there.

He soon had himself quite convinced that he’d mastered the art form, as it were, and he was just beginning to get adventurous when Spock forced out a tortured, almost tearful request of, “Jim,  _ Jim, please,  _ stop…”

Jim pulled away like his mouth had been burned, feeling his face redden with embarrassment. Perhaps he’d been a little too enthusiastic. Despite the fact that he couldn’t imagine such a thing, he reminded himself that he was  _ only _ doing this to help his friend. He had nothing to prove, of course. “I’m sorry,” he said hastily, trying to forget the stinging sense of shame he suddenly felt. “Do you…” Jim cleared his throat and swallowed, wishing he could sink into the floor and right through to E Deck. “Have you changed your mind? Should I go?”

“No!” Spock begged, horrified. “Jim, don’t...please.  _ Jim. _ ”

Jim’s confidence was back in a hurry, and he had learned earlier how to interpret Spock’s various invocations of his name. “ _ More _ ?” he chuckled, giving Spock an indulgent, open smile.

“Come closer,” he demanded in reply.

Jim decided there was no sense in delaying the inevitable any longer, prying his boots off by the heels and kicking them away as he unfastened his slacks and removed them, tossing them over the chair in the corner. Jim laid himself against his friend, every inch of skin connected along the tight seam of their bodies, and planted a dozen comforting kisses over his warm cheek and razor-sharp jaw, whispering, “Tell me, Spock. It’s alright. Tell me what you need,” until Spock was mumbling frantically, lips pressed into Jim’s shoulder. “What was that, Mr. Spock?” he teased, letting his fingers slip through Spock’s damp hair, marvelling at just how straight and thick it was. He skimmed his nails temptingly over his scalp, making Spock shudder. “Come on now. You can tell me.”

“Intercourse,” Spock said louder, now insistent and impatient, as if Jim should have known.

And oh, Jim didn’t want to laugh - the last thing he wanted to was to cause his friend undue shame right now, when he was so vulnerable - but it escaped him before he could help himself. “Yes,” he promised sincerely, biting back the mirth that threatened to spill out again. “Yes, of course, Spock.”

“Now,” Spock clarified through clenched teeth, rolling his body against Jim’s. “Please,” he added - an apologetic afterthought.

“I know, I know,” Jim soothed him, tilting his head up to brush his lips teasingly against the shell of Spock’s ear. “Well, have you got something in mind already? Or do you propose...drawing straws?” he suggested cheekily.

Spock had neither the time nor the wits left for conversation, though, and shoved Jim suddenly, toppling him onto his back in the center of the bed, where he lay, hands raised disarmingly, just in case the Vulcan’s violent streak had surfaced again. Spock was hardly out to kill him, though, Jim realized as his lap was suddenly straddled. When Spock reached for him this time, it was to caress his face (however clumsily) rather than to snap his neck. Jim turned his head just in time to catch the pad of Spock’s thumb against his lips for a quick kiss.

But Spock didn’t seem interested in affectionate gestures or kisses or reassurance. He’s entirely too fargone. Without letting another moment slip away, Spock reached behind himself to take Jim’s cock in one warm, long-fingered hand and grasped it so roughly that Jim bucked against him in pained surprise. The tightness of Spock’s grip or the insistence with which he stroked him shocked Jim - perhaps it even  _ frightened _ him - but it did not deter him. Touching Spock the way he’d done minutes ago had certainly been a thrill he’d never imagined experiencing. Really, it had hardly crossed his mind before that moment. But Spock’s hands on  _ him,  _ like _ this... _ was the stuff of the wildest dreams that he’d tucked away and hidden from himself for quite some time, blaming everything from simple loneliness to close quarters to stress. Now that Spock was here, touching him, making love to him, Jim was increasingly convinced that he was not simply here to platonically provide necessary contact. He had stayed because he wanted to stay - willfully, lovingly, and selfishly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love, guys!


	8. First Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I work at a library. And I definitely wrote this chapter at my desk. On tiny slips of paper, in tiny handwriting, so no one would know that the funny gay reference librarian was also being a very naughty Trekkie.

**Axiom of Choice: 8. First Contact**

 

As willing - enthusiastic, even -  to proceed as Jim now found himself, he mustered what was left of his own good sense and stopped Spock’s advances with one gentle hand on the Vulcan’s chest and the other supplying a tight grip on his thigh.

“Slow down, Spock,” he urged him softly. “Now, don’t go about it like that - you’ll end up hurting yourself. Or me.”

“I am hurting now, Jim,” Spock argued insistently.

“Yes, well, I’m trying to make sure that you’re not hurting tomorrow morning, as well,” Jim pointed out with finality, silencing any further discussion by pushing himself up on his right elbow and pressing his left thumb against Spock’s lips, tracing along them as if requesting permission. Even in the dark room, Jim could see Spock’s pupils dilating at the touch, and he felt the caress of warm air ghosting past his fingers as his friend gasped. Considering how intimately Spock was already touching him, Jim was appropriately amused by how scandalized and how very confused the suggestion seemed to make him. “Go on,” Jim chuckled. “Open your mouth.”

Spock kept his eyes fixed on Jim’s as he parted his lips and drew Jim’s fingers in, with a frown on his brow that was both questioning and apprehensive, and expressively hopeful that he had read Jim’s request correctly. Jim took a steadying breath and smiled his encouragement, and Spock dragged his tongue along the length of Jim’s first two fingers. But Jim did not overlook the fact that the Vulcan was anything but horrified - his cock was sporting a deep flush and heavy with arousal now, and as he slid his tongue between Jim’s fingers, a drop of moisture collected on the tip. Jim couldn’t help but to grip him lightly and catch it with his thumb, spreading it over his length with slow, easy strokes. Spock’s mouth pulled him in deeper appreciatively.

Once his fingers were wet, Jim drew Spock closer and wrapped his arm around him. He tried to slip his fingers in gradually, to stretch him carefully, but the way the Spock rocked back into him hardly allowed for such precautions. Spock leaned forward, reaching back to take Jim by the wrist and pressed his fingers in up to the knuckles, and as soon as Jim dared to curl and scissor them, Spock’s body straightened up like a snapped switch, and on his features there was a desperation, a certain mindlessness, a kind of euphoria that Jim hadn’t even imagined Spock was capable of expressing.

“There,” Jim coaxed him, blushing when he heard his own breathlessness. “There, that’s a little better already, isn’t it?”

Spock answered only by letting his head fall back, eyes twisted shut and throat laboring for every breath. Jim worked him over on just the stretch of his fingers for as long as Spock permitted, but once Spock’s staggered gasps became vocal, tearful sobs, Jim got the sense that he had better stop teasing. This could kill a Vulcan, after all, and Jim thought with an absent smirk that he wasn’t so sure if could recognize the difference between death and its smaller counterpart. Judging by poor Mr. Spock’s reactions, really, either might have been imminent.

Jim reasoned that leaving Spock in full control of the pace would now would be irresponsible at best - he was in far too much of hurry, his body too desperate and his fingers too careless, and while Jim could appreciate a certain amount of pain in conjunction with sex, the discomfort of a rushed coupling was a different matter. He pushed himself upright and briefly cradled Spock in his lap, revelling in the way the Vulcan’s long, powerful legs encircled him, and planted one promising kiss in the center of his chest before flipping them both over to pin Spock beneath his weight.

Spock cried out in surprise, but tilted up his hips and locked his limbs possessively around Jim’s back, urging him closer.

Jim took his own cock in hand and pressed it to the apex of Spock’s thighs, sliding it along the cleft of his ass until it was slick and achingly hard and heavy in his palm. Spock became suddenly silent and still, lips parted and eyes wide, anticipating the burn and stretch that he must have known was coming. And Jim didn’t make him wait a moment longer - he entered him as gently as he could and as quickly as he dared, in one long, unyielding thrust. When he breathed again, it was in successively faster, harsher gasps until Jim was fully seated inside him.

Jim felt beads of sweat blooming on his face and chest, caught between the warmth and tightness of Spock’s body and the sting of his nails as they dragged hot lines across his shoulder blades. He forced himself to wait, to give his friend a moment to acclimate and relax, and in that momentary interlude he suffered a pang of clarity - a barrage of grim reminders that this was a definite conflict of interest, warranting a court martial, even. But whatever other dissent his higher thought processes had to offer, Spock mercifully drove them away with his tongue and teeth, sucking and biting frantically at the juncture of Jim’s shoulder and neck. Jim hardly stopped to wonder if Spock might be leaving marks. His brain felt like an overheated circuit-board and there was an electrical current humming through his veins, and he was no longer any better off than his companion.

Jim pulled away only to thrust back into Spock a little deeper, pressing their bodies flush together. He shut his eyes and finally allowed himself the privilege of not thinking, not worrying, not second-guessing himself, and gave in to a baser instinct that only cared about the warmth of another person’s skin against his own, the rhythmic movement and the friction and the smell of sex and arousal covering them like a blanket.

Although Jim admittedly had lost most of his sense of time, he guessed that Spock didn’t last much longer than a minute - and Jim couldn’t blame him at all, given that the poor fellow had already held out a week too long. Jim was completely blindsided by his own orgasm only a few seconds later - he had been engulfed in the buzzing, humming ecstasy of it all, feeling as if he could go on forever and never need another thing in all his life. No food, no water, not even his ship. But as soon as Spock tensed underneath him, body spasming, fingers trembling, and said, “ _ Jim, I--”  _ he burst at the seams, as if Spock’s words were a lit match dropped on a river of fuel. It lasted for an eternity, and Jim could all at once feel his body more intensely than ever and not at all - like he was watching himself through someone else’s eyes, feeling the pleasure of two bodies instead of just his own.

When could move again, he reached up to stroke Spock’s hair, and when could speak again, although he couldn’t have said why, he murmured, “I know, Spock - I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night, guys!


	9. Verboten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock discuss the next step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All typos are my own. I should probably sleep or something. XD

**Axiom of Choice: 9. Verboten**

 

Jim drifted happily, lost in an expansive, encompassing sense of warmth, pleasure and satisfied exhaustion. The intercom out in Spock’s living quarters was temporarily forgotten, as was the presumably anxious doctor waiting for news and instructions in the sickbay. Even Jim’s shift on the bridge had now fallen by the wayside in favor of lingering with his First Officer for just a few minutes longer. Gently, he cradled Spock’s head and neck in his hands, turning his face to plant slow, clumsy kisses from one ear to the other, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw along the the way. Finally, Jim let himself collapse against him, their cheeks and temples pressed together sweetly.

They stayed there together, trembling limbs entangled, Jim’s dead-weight resting atop Spock’s solid form, catching their breath, hearts gradually slowing, for what must have been nearly a quarter of an hour, though Jim couldn’t have accurately judged it in his present state, before their blissfully calm repose began to fray around the edges.

_ What have I done? What have I done?  _ circled unceasingly through Jim’s mind as if it were an echo chamber making an infinite loop, and yet Jim was certain that those were not his words or his thoughts. In fact, he was as pleased as he could be. Spock’s body was sensuously warm, though now less feverish, and the hollow of his collarbone was comforting and inviting, and he had no desire to lift his head from its resting place there. Even if this course of action had not been so unquestionably necessary, Jim still wasn’t sure he would have regretted it. After all, Mr. Spock was such a kind (albeit, occasionally blunt) and intelligent individual - loyal and honest even by Vulcan standards, and furthermore, Jim couldn’t imagine that Spock would ever let a sexual - or perhaps even romantic? - relationship interfere with his duties in the slightest. At least, no more than one might argue their close friendship already affected their work, which in Jim’s opinion was primarily a great advantage to them both. And he was forced to admit that he had unquestionably made  _ many _ far less advisable choices in the past regarding bedmates.

Perhaps the continued choruses of shame and regret were nothing but the futile complaints of an old-fashioned, Earth-raised conscience - something that Jim had hoped he had learned to ignore when it came to matters of love and sex. And yet, it wasn’t exactly his  _ own _ voice he was hearing, and he  _ did _ recognize the speaker. He reasoned that, really, Spock had always been the voice of his conscience. Jim sincerely hoped that their closeness had not resulted in some kind of brief, unintentional mind-meld, because if Spock was feeling such panic and remorse, then Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself.

But Spock’s soaring fever was now on the decline, and his hands were steadier, his eyes clearer, and his breathing was calmer and more even. Even if they never spoke of this again (which Jim fervently hoped would not be the case), seeing Spock’s good health restored in part was justification enough. Jim lifted his head and smiled down at Spock, who met his eyes momentarily, then chose instead to stare distantly through him. Jim tilted his head into the Vulcan’s line of sight, hoping to regain his attention. “Mr. Spock,” he smirked playfully. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“Captain,” he began, his voice raw and still a little breathless, but once again coherent. “What I have done is unbecoming of--”

“Oh,” Jim groaned, shaking his head tiredly, and because he was in no mood to argue with his First Officer, he kissed him instead. Spock was as still as a statue for a moment, but Jim persisted until he was pliant again. Once Spock’s lips parted, the kiss became wholly mutual - Jim thought it might have been the best one he’d ever had. It was him, not Spock, who broke it, and only because the Vulcan didn’t need as much oxygen as a human. “Listen here, there’s no need for apologies, Spock. But I...I need to know - that wasn’t exactly impersonal, was it? For either of us.”

Spock’s eyes widened minutely as he stared off into the midground again. “No, Jim. It was very personal.”

“Come on, Spock - none of your sarcasm,” Jim huffed, trying not to indulge Spock with a real laugh. “If you feel no romantic attraction for me, then tell me. I wouldn’t ask a Vulcan to lie to spare my feelings. But I think you know very well now how I feel about you,” he concluded. This time, it was his words that drew Spock’s eyes back to Jim’s. “Do you?”

Spock swallowed visibly, staunchly holding Jim’s gaze. “I believe I am aware of your romantic feelings for me. Yes. And they are…” The word seemed to catch in his chest, but Spock forced it out unblinkingly. “They are reciprocated.”

Jim’s face split into a genuine smile, and his heart felt suddenly full. “Well, I’m glad we’re in agreement. Where do you suppose we go from here?”

“I would recommend the bridge.”

Jim had the sudden urge to make a very terse response, but exhaled instead. “A bit too literal, Spock. But you’re right, at any rate. Are you…ah, can I…?” Jim blushed a bit and nodded downward, indicating their still intimately entwined bodies.

“Oh,” Spock realized. Together, they extricated themselves, both never looking up from the mattress, and sat up.

Jim cleared his throat, gathering his shirt and trousers from the floor, though he didn’t put them on. “We should both probably freshen up before we return to polite company,” he chuckled.

“Most certainly,” Spock agreed. He pulled his heavy blanket over himself once again, though he didn’t seem to be suffering from those chills any longer - he was just feeling a bit vulnerable, Jim guessed.

“You’re managing a little better, I take it?”

“Almost totally normal,” Spock reported, with no small degree of surprise at his own quick recovery. “I am still experiencing mild fatigue and a slight sense of anxiety, but I am no longer impaired by it.”

Jim leaned back on his hands, admittedly having forgotten about his own state of undress, even as Spock was attempting to discreetly cover himself. “And that’s it? It’s all over now, for seven years?”

Spock frowned. “I do not know. I had never experienced this before, although I have gathered that, for many Vulcans, these symptoms may recur for several days before abating completely.”

“I hope you won’t hesitate to call me if that happens, Spock.”

Spock allowed himself what Jim would call the  _ suggestion _ of a smile - which, coming from Spock, was more than enough to satisfy him. “I will not. We should hurry, though, Captain--”

Jim raised his hand, expression flat. “ _ Jim,  _ Spock. For God’s sake _.” _

“Jim,” Spock amended as an apology. “As I was saying, we will be missed on the bridge by now.”

“I informed them I’d be late, and they hardly need either of us at the moment - we’re en route to Altair IV, and unless something unfortunate happens, they know their orders and their orders are very simple. They don’t need me there to babysit,” he chuckled. “But I will check on them, I think.”

“Go ahead without me,” Spock requested. “I will join you once I am redressed.”

“Oho!” Jim laughs knowingly. “Is that what you think you’ll do, Mr. Spock?”

Spock already looked a bit blindsided and hurt. “Jim, I haven’t yet finished my cartographical analysis of--”

“I won’t hear it, Spock,” Jim interrupted. He stood and stepped back into his trousers, smoothing the wrinkles out of them. “The only thing you’re mapping today is the sickbay, I’m afraid.”

“But, Jim, I’m--”

Jim gave him a stern, unyielding glance. “That...was  _ Captain. _ ”

Spock blinked slowly, expressing defeat. “Very well, Captain,” he replied flatly.

 

Once Jim had thoroughly decontaminated himself to remove the smell of sex and smooth down his tousled hair, he returned to Spock’s living quarters and hailed sickbay, rehearsing for the  _ n _ th time the excuses he had painstakingly prepared for his friend. When the button clicked at the other end of the channel, McCoy spoke first. “Speak of the Devil, Jim. I was starting to wonder if you’d both keeled over.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Jim assured him, trying to paste on an easy smile and hoping that Bones could hear it in his voice. “He’s doing much better, actually. I’m still going to send him to you for--”

But Bones had been Jim’s friend for far too long, and he could evidently hear some quality in Jim’s voice of which Jim himself was not aware. “Jim,” he whispered, his tone accusatory and scandalized. “Jim, you  _ didn’t. _ ”

Jim bit back a nervous laugh, and said, ”Of course not, Bones--” before he had realized just how damning and desperate he sounded.

On the other end of the line, one of McCoy’s unimpressed silences stretched on. Finally, the doctor seemed to come to the realization that his suspicions were not unfounded. “Oh,” he sighs. “God  _ damn  _ it. You did. _ ” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night, Trekkie friends!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are ridiculously appreciated - especially complicated, detailed, or creative faces made out of punctuation marks. Regular smiley faces are good, too. :)


End file.
